


The Private Life of Gregory House

by superangsty



Category: House M.D.
Genre: 5+1 Things, Established Relationship, M/M, Season 1, Secret Relationship, Shenanigans, idk man idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24755092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superangsty/pseuds/superangsty
Summary: "You guys really don't get it, do you?""Getwhat?""It's almost insulting, really."Or, five times the team missed the point completely, and one time where they figured it out
Relationships: Greg House/James Wilson
Comments: 16
Kudos: 646





	The Private Life of Gregory House

**Author's Note:**

> I binged House a few weeks ago and it made me absolutely lose my mind so here's a fic!  
> Also, watch the private life of sherlock holmes, this fic has nothing to do with it I just needed a title n I like the film bc it's kinda gay. Would recommend!

1.

  
  


“A question, Chase,” House asks, limping swiftly down the corridor as the fellows trot along behind him. “Are you _actually_ the dumbest person alive, or do you have a brain-dead cousin hidden away somewhere?”

They’ve spent the past two days with next to no sleep, running tests and doing differentials to try and figure out what was wrong with their patient, and all it had been was a simple kidney infection. This is something that Allison would normally consider a win, and House would consider a waste of his time. There are some patients where she doesn’t get to see her apartment for a _week_ it gets so complicated, so anything that’s solved quickly and has so easy a solution as a round of antibiotics is a godsend.

And then the patient had crashed, because she has a _goddamn_ penicillin allergy. They hadn’t seen any mention of it in her files, she hadn’t said anything when they asked about allergies, and Chase’s scratch test hadn’t covered penicillin because, well, why would it?

The patient is fine, now. House is mad for the sake of being mad and he knows it. Earlier he’d told Allison that if she showed up to work in heels one more time he would break her ankles. He’s told Foreman to piss off at least ten times in the past 24 hours, and Chase is last because he’s always had a harder time finding fault in him.

Whenever she gets a moment to think about anything more than hundreds of symptoms and thousands of diseases and the pain in their patients’ eyes, she likes to try and play at House’s game, play deductions. Today, the game is centred around his mood.

The thing with the penicillin doesn’t even make the top 100 on the list of monumental fuck-ups the team has made before, so it’s nothing to do with the case. He’s not favouring his left side too heavily and she’s only seen him pop two vicodin in the past four hours, so it’s not his leg.

They enter House’s office and she catches Foreman's eye at the same time as he figures it out, because he smirks and says "You're cranky today, Doctor." He shoves one hand in his pocket and uses the other to point an accusatory finger at House. "What is it, wife not putting out?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Chase flinch. He can be such a child, sometimes, always wanting to keep Daddy happy.

Allison shoves the thought of referring to House as _Daddy_ deep, deep into the recesses of her brain. She braces herself, too, because Chase is an ass but he has the right idea – it’s one thing to call House out on his medical opinions, that’s their job. It’s another thing entirely to insult him personally. Foreman's probably the only one of them who could do it and still make it out with his life.

House doesn't blow up, though. He stops mid-way to setting the file down, and turns back to them, tilting his head. He frowns. "I don't have a wife."

Something like hope twangs in Allison’s chest for the first time since she’d noticed the glint of gold on his finger. He doesn’t have a wife.

He sits, and the three of them pull up chairs around his desk, looking between each other. Foreman raises his eyebrows, letting the silent question hang for a moment – _so which of you is gonna ask_? Of course, Allison has enough common sense to know when to leave things be, so she leans back in her chair, crossing her arms. Chase looks at her, rolls his eyes, and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

Before he can open his mouth, House shoots him an unimpressed look. “Oh, goody,” he starts. “Are you three done communicating telepathically?” He widens his eyes at the last bit, changes his tone to something that might be an attempt at spooky.

“We don’t mean to pry, but - “

House taps his cane on the desk. “Then don’t.”

“If you’re not married,” Chase continues, ignoring the ‘abort mission’ looks Allison is shooting him, “then why do you wear a ring?”

A look crosses House’s face that’s stuck between actually considering the question like they made a good point and wondering how he’s been saddled with the three biggest idiots on the planet.

Allison hates that she knows him well enough to translate his looks, now.

It only stays for a moment, though, before he’s widening his eyes and clasping his hands together, saying “as a symbol of love and fidelity” in a mocking falsetto.

  
  


2.

  
  


Even when he’s not needed for a consult, Doctor Wilson has a habit of hanging out in their office, so Chase isn’t too surprised to see him meander in during a differential and start pouring himself a coffee. The oncology lounge is a floor up, it makes sense to just come to the office next door.

Usually they ignore him and keep on with their work, sometimes he’ll sit down and offer a theory but today he’s keeping to himself, so it doesn’t make sense when House trails off in the middle of a sentence and starts staring at him critically.

“Is that a new tie?”

Wilson sighs – the long suffering kind, the one he only ever uses on House, and replies “I’m not having an affair.”

Was that meant to be some kind of code?

House doesn’t seem satisfied with the answer, whatever it actually _was,_ because he steps forward and delicately lifts Wilson’s tie like he’s afraid it might burn him. “But it _is_ a new tie, so you’re thinking about it.”

Maybe this is a dream, Chase reasons. Whilst it isn’t the _most_ ridiculous conversation he’s heard in House’s employment, the fact that Wilson’s going along with it is enough to set off a few alarm bells. He digs a fingernail into the palm of his hand. Ouch.

So, not a dream.

“What - “ Chase starts to ask, but stops when he realises he’s not actually sure _what_ to ask.

Wilson turns to look at Chase, running a hand through his hair. “Didn’t you hear? Buying ties is now an accurate measure of fidelity.” He turns back to House, grimacing. “Surely _every_ sane person knows _tha_ _t_.”

"You already have ties, Wilson,” replies House, shoving his free hand into his pocket. “Why would you need to buy more unless you were trying to impress someone?"

This, apparently, is Foreman’s limit of bickering, because he stands up, looking between them. "Couldn’t he be trying to impress Mrs Wilson?"

House barely lets him finish the sentence before he cuts in. "Mrs Wilson hates the tie."

" _M_ _rs Wilson_ ,” says Wilson, raising an eyebrow, “hates all my ties.”

"You know who likes that tie?” House asks, puffing out his chest in defiance, “the cute little trainee nurse in oncology."

"So now Mrs Wilson is keeping tabs on who compliments my clothing?"

"Only if Mrs Wilson heard youwere buying _coffee_ for said nurse who compliments your clothing."

Wait. "Which nurse?"

Chase had seen that, too. Chase had been the one to mention it to House, in yet another failed attempt to find a common ground with him by teasing Wilson. House had said something snarky, hadn’t he? And then, what, he secretly takes it seriously and reports it to Mrs Wilson?

They both stop short, turning to blink at him like they’ve only just remembered the other three are there.

"Jeffries," they say in unison.

Clearly, House hadn’t met her. Because if House had met her, he would have known that: "She's a lesbian. Sorry, Wilson."

Cameron, who’s been trying to make herself look small in her chair since the whole conversation began, leans over and jabs Chase in the side.

"How do _you_ know?" she hisses.

Because, Chase wants to say, when he asked her out she’d said “thanks, I’m a lesbian.” You don’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to figure that one out. His ego’s still a little bruised. It was less than two weeks ago, he’s not ready to share with the class.

"See, I actually knew that,” Wilson says, either ignoring Cameron or genuinely not realising she’s said anything. “Because I make an effort to get to know my staff. And you know who else likes the tie? Me. I like it. I think it's cheerful. And I think _Mrs Wilson_ is paranoid."

House’s jaw clenches. "Maybe Mrs Wilson has a reason to be."

"Maybe Mrs Wilson should talk to me, then, rather than kill me for buying a new tie."

The door to House’s office has swung shut before Chase even realises he’s walked through it. Wilson sighs and storms out into the corridor.

  
  


3.

  
  


There’s a couple of days after the weirdness over the tie where if anybody even mentions cancer, never mind Wilson, House gets into a huff and tells them they’re all imbeciles. After that, a week before Wilson gets called in for a consult. And then, just like that, it’s like nothing ever happened.

Eric doesn’t _get it_.

He doesn’t get House, obviously, but somehow Wilson is an even bigger enigma. House, on the surface level, is easy. He just doesn’t like people. He likes them as a concept, he likes _humans_ , or else he’d never have become a doctor. But when humans start becoming people, he takes himself out of the equation.

He’ll do anything to prove a point, which is why he’s been insisting on not taking his Vicodin all week

That’s all he needs to know to be able to work with the man. Unlike Cameron, Eric doesn’t have this obsessive need to know all about their boss’ personal life, and has even _less_ desire to meddle in it.

Wilson, though. He wonders. He wonders how anyone can be so pleasant when they spend their days telling other people they’re going to die. He wonders why he’s been married three times before he’s even hit forty. He wonders what kind of insane you have to be, exactly, to not just put up with House but be friends with him for over a decade.

The man is just _odd_.

The man is walking into the room right now, House limping swiftly after him.

"Give it back, Wilson.”

Wilson ignores him and sits down, leafing through the notes on his clipboard. House, even though he's pale and visibly shaking in pain, doesn't sit. He stands in front of Wilson, leaning heavily on his cane.

"Wilson."

He doesn't look up. "Sit down, House."

Eric expects some kind of a fuss, some snarky comment, but House just scowls for a few more moments before shaking his head and lowering himself onto the nearest chair.

House looks bad. Really, really bad. He’s pale, highlighting the dark circles under his eyes that seem to take up half of his cheeks. He’s sweating, his breathing is laboured, he looks like he’s barely keeping himself conscious. He looks, if Eric’s being perfectly honest, like a junkie that needs a fix. Which he supposes isn’t too far off.

Still, the meeting goes relatively painlessly, besides the usual insults House throws at them when they try offer a diagnosis.

When they’re done, grabbing their stuff to leave, House leans over the arm of his chair, holding a hand out to Wilson.

“Give it back.”

Wilson sighs and gets something out of his pocket, dropping it into House’s hand. “It’s not my fault you broke your ring finger,” he says, rubbing a hand over his face. “Next time aim the pestle somewhere else.”

Pain offset. Idiotic, but it works. It’s Wednesday, and House is already desperate enough to break his own hand.

The next day he watches House collapse to the floor of his office with a hiss of pain. When he doesn’t immediately try to get up, Eric rushes to his side.

He’s seen patients in pain before. When it’s a patient, he can just up the morphine or knock them out for a while. But House isn’t a patient, there’s no IV in his arm, and there’s no Vicodin in the office. If there was, Eric would be forcing him to swallow some, bet be damned.

He manages to get House sitting upright, at least, leaning against the couch. He barely seems to notice that Eric is _there_ as he clutches at his thigh, silent tears streaming down his face.

Eric forces himself into doctor mode, tries to stop thinking of House as his asshole boss and start thinking of him as a patient in pain. “Give me a number, House.”

House groans and shakes his head, fixing his eyes on Eric with a hard glare.

“I’m going to call someone, okay?” he says, looking out the glass walls of the office and wishing someone would come by so he wouldn’t _have_ to call. “We’ll get you to a bed, get you hooked up”

“Jim,” House bites out as he releases a sharp breath, not unclenching his jaw.

That… is not Eric’s name. And he’s the only one in the room with House, so there’s no-one else he could be talking to. Eric runs it through in his head, adds it to the list of symptoms – confusion? Hallucinations? Memory loss?

Withdrawal can be a bitch, he’s seen it enough times. He just hopes that’s all it is.

“Doctor House, this is Eric. You’re in your office at Princeton Pl- “

House grabs his arm, shutting him up. “Get me _Jim_.”

There’s no Jim. Eric can count the people that House talks to on one hand: him, Robert Chase, Allison Cameron, Lisa Cuddy, James Wilson.

Ah.

He gets up off the floor and dashes out the office, already calling for Wilson as he takes the few steps down the corridor to his office. Wilson’s got his head out the door when he gets there, confusion turning to concern when he sees the look on Eric’s face.

“It’s House.”

Wilson’s face falls and he’s pushing past Eric, jogging down the short stretch of corridor and into House’s office. He goes straight to House’s side, dropping to his knees and reaching out to put a hand on his jaw.

“For god’s sake, House, just take the damn pills. A month off clinic duty cannot be worth this.”

House grabs onto Wilson’s arms, leaning forward until he’s slumped on him, head resting on his chest. “It’s one more day. Take me home.”

“Greg,” Wilson says, voice cracking. “As your doctor, I -”

“ - Emotionally compromised. Take me home.”

Wilson looks back over his shoulder at Eric, who’s hovering in the doorway like an awkward child because as much as he wants to help he doesn’t know how.

“Go get a wheelchair,” he says, nodding at Eric before turning his attention back to House. “And then tell Cuddy I’m taking him home, and get my secretary to cancel the rest of my appointments today.”

  
  


4.

  
  


In her life, Allison’s made a lot of bad decisions. A _lot_. But asking House if he _likes_ her, like they’re 12-year-olds in a playground, has to rank pretty high.

The logic was simple: House says yes, she asks him on a date and they live happily ever after. Miserably ever after, maybe, in House’s case. He says no, she gets the closure that she needs and she moves on.

He says no.

He doesn’t just _say_ it. Even in his everyday rejections there’s a flippancy to it, like nothing he does or says matters because he’s so above everyone else and their thoughts and feelings. It’s like a constant reminder that they’re just mortals and he doesn’t need to be wasting his time with them.

This time, he pauses. When she blurts out the question he freezes in his tracks and turns back to look at her, which is the first sign she’s made a mistake. He switches his cane to his left hand and stretches his neck to look up at the ceiling, blinking. Then he looks down, and for a long few moments just stands there staring at the gold band around his finger.

He sighs, looks back up at her, and the “no” he replies with is the most sincere thing she’s ever heard him say.

Her heart rips in two.

She keeps telling herself that she’s being ridiculous. It’s just a crush, she’ll get over it. It’s not like she’s in _love_ with him. Really, it’s not.

So, since she’s _not_ in love, she can’t be heartbroken. She’s just disappointed – rejection’s always gonna sting. It’s just amplified by the valentine’s day festivities that have been ramping up all week, reminding her of how desperately alone she actually is.

Clinic duty is a good enough task to distract herself, and she goes into work on valentine’s day looking forward to a day of being busy and, most importantly, away from House.

And then they get a case.

It’s one of those ‘stay up all night running countless tests’ kind of cases, so as soon as they’re safely holed up in the lab, out of earshot of the patient, the guys both start complaining.

Foreman, apparently, has to cancel a date. He doesn’t offer up any more information except to randomly burst into complaints about how hard it had been to get reservations, and how much he’d been looking forward to it, but he doesn’t actually seem too upset. He calls the girl up to cancel, and then goes about his business like nothing’s happened.

Chase, on the other hand, can’t seem to stop _whining_. He hasn’t got a date but he’d been planning to go to some bar Allison’s never heard of and pick up dateless, self-loathing girls. Reminding him that he can do that any other day of the year, too, doesn’t seem to help much.

After about an hour, House walks in, peering over their shoulders and pinching vials of blood to hold up to the light. “Any joy yet?”

“It’s all negative so far,” Foreman replies, still looking through his microscope. “But we have about fifty more tests to run, so...”

“Cool!” House says. He swallows a pill and then looks around the lab. “Page me if you find anything interesting, I have to head out.”

That makes all three of them look up at him.

Chase smirks. “Got a hot date?”

There’s a bolt of pain in Allison’s chest. It’s still not heartbreak. She’s probably just had too much caffeine.

“Yup,” House replies, and then turns to the door. He doesn’t open it, though, instead turning back to look at them all still staring at him. “What?”

A machine beeps somewhere in the lab, signalling that one of their tests is done. They all ignore it and look to Foreman.

"You just... don't seem like the type to go for valentines day," he says, shaking his head.

"I'm not."

"but your girlfriend is?" Chase asks.

"I don’t have a girlfriend."

"but I - “ Cameron starts, willing her blood to stop rushing to her cheeks. “we thought – you said you didn’t have a wife."

"I don’t."

Chase rolls his eyes. "Hooker, then."

House grins like a little kid that’s just been given the robot he asked for for Christmas. "You guys really don't get it, do you?"

"Get _what_?" Chase huffs. Allison quietly moves some vials away from his now clenched fist.

"It's almost insulting, really."

Foreman opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again, pauses for a moment before asking "w _hat_ is?"

House turns back to the door, resting his hand on it but not pushing yet. "Oh no, this is way too much fun. No clues on this one."

"But - "

He looks at his watch and smirks, winking at them before parting with "ciao, my date is waiting."

  
  


5.

  
  


“So you don’t have a wife.”

“Nope.”

“And you don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Nope.”

“And it wasn’t a hooker you were seeing.”

“Definitely not.”

“But it was a _date_ date, right?”

“Right.”

“And - “

“Focus, people, I need a differential. Dying patient, or whatever.”

*

Eric pushes through the door to House’s office, standing in front of his boss’ desk until he looks up. “Are you in the closet, is that what this is?”

House, as Eric expected, just smirks and raises his eyebrows. “I _seem_ to be sitting in my office.”

It’s all very well and good not giving them clues, Eric thinks, but surely there should be some kind of rule that House has to give a straight answer to their questions.

He’d argue that, but he’s not in the mood for any kind of heated debate about the rules of – whatever this game of House’s actually _is_ , so he gives House a pointed look. “The metaphorical one, I mean.”

House picks up a pen and sticks it in his mouth, sucking it thoughtfully for a moment as he considers.

“Nope,” he says finally, and Eric’s willing to take that as it is, but House gets that distant look in his eyes that means he’s just figured something out.

He stands and grabs his cane, hobbling out the door and waving for Eric to follow him. “The mob guy, where’s his brother?”

“He should be in the visitors lounge, why?”

“Idiot didn’t mention he was gay. It’s _fucking_ Hep C.”

*

“Are you a republican or do you just hate all politicians?”

“I just find being forced to sit through drivel annoying.”

“You find sincerity annoying?”

“I know your spiel, my husband’s been voting for you for years.”

Eric nearly drops the mallet he was about to tap the senator’s knee with.

House keeps rambling on, something about ghettos and Yale, but Eric’s still stuck on what he said before. Husband.

Then, the senator’s knee doesn’t jerk, and for a while the conversation slips his mind.

*

“And you’re sure he wasn’t just saying it to throw you off?” Chase asks, leaning further forward on the table.

Foreman had strode into the outer office claiming he had big news, so the three of them are crowded round the corner of the table, Foreman looking around to check for House before recounting what had happened in the clinic.

“I don’t think so,” he replies, “I’m not sure he even realised he said it.”

To be honest, Chase doesn’t really believe it. It seems too easy, after weeks of House forcing them to chase around and guess about his personal life – and why they even _cared_ , Chase was struggling to remember.

“A _husband_?” Cameron stage whispers, as if she’ll get in trouble just for saying it. “Are you sure?”

“So,” comes a voice from the door, and the three of them turn at once to look up at House. “You’ve figured it out, then.”

“You – you said you weren’t married!” Allison says.

House winks. “According to the law, I’m not,” he says, and limps to the table to take a seat.

Surely that’s cheating, Chase thinks. “That’s cheating!” Surely you can’t have it both ways – either you’re married, legally or not, and you say you’re married, or you’re not married at all.

“But you said you weren’t gay!” Foreman says, and Chase turns back to look at him.

“You asked him if he was gay?”

“Technically,” House says gleefully, “he asked me if I was closeted, which I’m not. If he’d asked me if I was _gay_ I would’ve had to say yes.”

Foreman leans forward and thumps his head on the table.

  
  


+1

  
  


It’s the night after the disaster that was House’s speech for Vogler, and Allison is standing outside his door. She hears soft piano music from inside the apartment, and apparently that’s another thing she didn’t know about her boss, he plays piano. She wonders how much more there is to learn.

Not that she’ll be around to learn it, after tonight.

She’s out there a couple of minutes before she finally lifts up her hand and knocks, heart skipping as she waits for the sound of the door opening.

But as it does, she realises that the piano hasn’t stopped, and she finds herself looking up not at House but at Dr Wilson.

“Hi, Cameron,” he says tentatively, and House stops playing.

Oh.

_Oh._

“I, uh,” she says, trying to decide which took priority; the carefully planned out resignation, or the million and one questions currently going through their head. “I came to speak to House.”

He steps aside and jerks his head towards the living area. “Come on in.”

“So it’s you, then?” she asks him, as House limps over from the piano.

Wilson just runs a hand through his hair and smiles, shaking his head. “For my sins, yes.”

House gets there and gives him a push on the shoulder, not quite smiling but with a warmth in his eyes.

As soon as she leaves, she starts up a call to Chase and Foreman.

**Author's Note:**

> Did I get bored while writing this and decide just to post it and be done with it? Maybe so... 
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoyed, if you did please leave comments and kudos, they mean a lot to me! And you can always come talk to me over on my tumblr, @superangsty


End file.
